


everything's a mess (but i want to dream)

by gizkas



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Tumblr fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizkas/pseuds/gizkas
Summary: "Ready to go?""Wherever you want."--Collection for my RebelCaptain drabbles.





	1. holding his breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: face-touching

It’s one of her many secrets that Jyn hates her hands. The palms of them are a mess of thick scar tissue– a result of firing the cheap, prone to overheating blasters Saw’s people were supplied. The knuckles are scarred over from too many brawls in marketplace alleys. Her nails are split from a detonator that went off too close to her a few days ago. There’s callouses in between her fingers from wielding truncheons as a primary melee weapon of choice. 

 

Most days, it doesn’t bother her. That’s why she owns gloves. Even when not in the field, she favors a pair that at least manage to cover the worst of her palms.

 

But she thinks he’s noticed the days where it does bother her. Because, as with most things involving Cassian, there’s a calculated air to the way he sits next to her when she’s pumicing her hands after oiling her guns and therefore not wearing her gloves. There’s intent when he lightly grabs her wrist and brings her hand to the side of his face.

 

She doesn’t protest it. Because to do so is childish, and truth be told, she’s too distracted by whatever look it is that he’s sending her. Her knotted skin against his cheek, Cassian stares at her and slowly runs his thumb over the back of her hand. It rolls over her scarred knuckles, is mindful of her aching nailbeds. She feels his warm exhale against her palm, and it’s almost like she’s holding his breath.

 

“Ready to go?” He finally asks. Because this moment is just a small pause in the reality of war.

 

Jyn Erso is not a soft person. But her fingertips brush into his hair on their own accord. She knows he can feel her pulse speeding up underneath the loose hold he has on her wrist.

 

She does not know why it is hard for her to do her customary grin. But she does it. And her voice is only a little unsteady when she answers.

 

“Wherever you want.”


	2. so let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Jyn gets fucking trashed

The celebrations on Yavin are well underway. And Cassian has been watching Jyn as her shaking fingers grab cup after cup of what stands as alcohol on Base One.

 

He is an intelligence officer. It doesn’t take him much to realize why her expression has soured, why there are grooves furrowed into the corners of her lips. Her gaze remains dead ahead as she simply refills the distilled coolant the moment she sees the bottom of her glass.

 

Across from the table where she sits alone, a group of low-level techs sit talking. Cassian stands to the side, leaning against the wall and watching and listening as they discuss the Death Star’s destruction. 

 

After the fifth or six round, they begin to discuss the Death Star’s creation. He only catches clips and phrases, but he sees them as they settle onto Jyn.

 

“What kind of sick bastard invents-”

 

“They said it was some Imperial named Krennic-”

 

“-I heard _Erso_ -”

 

“Deserved what he got, then-”

 

Cassian sees the signs before Jyn realizes she makes them. Her hand grips the glass. Her shoulders pitch forward. This is not his first bar fight, but it is the first where he feels compelled to stop someone from getting hurt.

 

Jyn is dead drunk when she shoves out of her seat. Her movements are fluid and betray her training as a child soldier as she grabs the headrest of her chair, hoists it up in a swing to her side, and aims to bring it down on the unsuspecting back of the speaking tech’s head-

 

Cassian’s arm grabs around her waist. He pulls, until her back is to his chest. She resists, shoving his touch away but he keeps his hold firm.

 

“They’re-!” She spits.

 

“I know,” he whispers into her hair.

 

The group of techs turn toward them. Cassian pays them no mind, but he senses Jyn’s glare in their direction. 

 

“He is proud of you. That’s all that matters,” Cassian says levelly. “So let go.”

 

Her breath is ragged in barely suppressed rage. She takes a few more inhales before she stills. He feels it come over her, her body sinking back into his. He feels her chest rise and fall until it gets closer to steady. She steps out of his hold and he lets her.

 

“I saved you,” she growls, before she grabs one of their drinks, downs it, and slams the empty bottle back on the table. “Jyn _Erso._ You’re the ones who are going to have to live with that.”

 

And then she leaves.

 

Cassian looks down at the table. The stunned techs stare back at him. He doesn’t need to say anything. Instead he makes the simple choice, and follows after her.


	3. Han Doesn't Approve

He doesn’t get it.

 

Jyn’s- well, okay. He doesn’t think anyone this side of the Inner Rim would ever call Jyn  _fun,_ but she’s likable enough. Good to be around in the field.

 

Not a total…whatever Andor is.

 

“Am I boring you, General?”

 

Han looks up from the console. Cassian Andor stares back. He doesn’t know if he imagined a slight sass on his new military rank. Andor was like that. Always a mild feeling of being attacked but never the documented evidence of it.

 

(Leia had called him out on it once.  
”You’re upset because you think he hurt your feelings,” she had observed.  
“It’s not that. The guy doesn’t like me!”  
A long, pointed stare.)

  
He rolls his shoulders. Flashes a grin that’s won him a lot of friends in cantinas. “A little.”

 

Cassian returns the expression. A mirror image, and Han has never felt so disarmed. “Then let’s make it quick.” A warm inflection that Han could swear is directly taken from  _his_ own voice filters into Andor’s next statement. “Get you to your pazaak games on time.”

 

Force, he’s creepy.

 

“S…ure,” he says after a moment. Because what’s he gonna do,  _argue_ on leaving a debriefing early?

 

Andor’s smile lingers on his face long enough to be convincingly genuine. Kriffing spies. “Pathfinders will be deployed in these quadrants.” The screen flickers, red dots appearing on landing zones. “We need these parameters secured-”

 

Han waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll read that in the pamphlet later.”

 

A long silence. Andor quietly  _clicks_ off the holodisplay. His face is…so neutral. Far too quiet fingers shuffle a stack of datapads. 

 

“Then I suppose we’re done here.”

 

Han feels like he’s messed up. He shouldn’t, because this guy’s only a Major. General beats Major.  _That_ was in the pamphlets, too.

 

The smart-ass invitation is out before he can stop himself. “Guessing you don’t want to go play cards?”

 

The corners of Andor’s eyes creased. The impression of smiling. “Another time, General Solo.”

 

“You can just call me Han, y’know. Jyn does.”

 

For some reason, the silence feels tenser. Like Han isn’t supposed to acknowledge the guy’s got a personal life or something. Or maybe Han’s not supposed to be in it. But Jyn’s under his command in the Pathfinders, they’ve  _talked_ before. 

 

Andor gives a slight dip of his chin. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Princess Organa.”

 

So neutral. And a crock of grade-A bantha shit.

 

“ _Major,”_ Han dismisses with definite, documentable sass on the rank.

  
–  
  


“I don’t get it,” Han tells Jyn straight-up at the card game that he is, in fact,  _early_ for. 

 

She lays down a +2. “Get what?”

 

“You and Andor.” He flips over a +4. Shit.

 

“What is there to get.” She adds a +1. Shit!

 

“He doesn’t like me,” Han states.

 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

 

He scowls. Folds.

 

Jyn doesn’t quite smirk. But it’s real kriffing close.

 

“I’m sorry he hurt your feelings,” she says kindly as she mercilessly takes his money.

 

Han glares.

 

Maybe he does get it.


	4. wed me

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

 

Jyn’s gaze hasn’t left the panel in front of her, her grease-stained fingers absently flicking a toggle on the controls. “Talk about what?”

 

She feels Cassian’s stare, landing somewhere on her back, but she doesn’t turn around. Instead she bites the inside of her lip, clears her throat, and looks for the override on the console. She’d spent the better part of an hour stripping wires and rerouting power grids, if this didn’t work-

 

“Last night. We don’t have to talk about it.”

 

Jyn pulls out her pliers, strips another set of wires. “What’s there to talk about?”

 

A stretch of silence. She hears a shuffle of cloth, and knows that Cassian has turned to watch the rest of the hall. Any moment, and the Imperial guards would come and they would have to leave without the intel they infiltrated this Force-forsaken  _casino_ for. 

 

“Canto Bight ceremonies are recognized. Legally.”

 

Jyn’s smudged fingers type across the console, leaving splotches of dirt and grime behind them. She’d drawn the short straw of saboteuring, and had made an impressive crawl through the vent to get to the console hub. She looks over her shoulder. Cassian is dressed in an impeccable suit, cream-colored. His disguise for the casino floor. Even clean-shaven, his face is drawn as ever and somber. His back to her, he’s taken up pointe and doesn’t move.

 

He’s…

 

The console  _dings._ Jyn’s lips split into a wide smile. Her hacking ability is about as good as someone using a hammer instead of a lockpick, but it seems to have worked. “Cracked it!” 

 

He looks over just quickly enough to give her his grim, thin smile that always does something to her chest. “Good. Pack up.”

 

She starts to. In the midst of the tools and grime and data breach in-progress, the thin, silver band around her finger is so much cleaner it seems to glow. She glances at it, before ignoring it in favor of transmitting Imperial routing numbers back to base. 

 

Last night, they had… Jyn’s psyche has never aggressively ignored a word like this before. But it had been for the mission. Short, quick, Canto Bight style. The skeptical Imperial officer’s disbelief at their cover story momentarily displaced in light of matching rings and an official license.

 

Jyn hoists her gear over her shoulder, shuts down the terminal, and starts to run. A half second later, Cassian’s boots echo behind hers.

 

Mission success.

 

–

 

They don’t talk about it.


End file.
